


Like Clockwork

by wolf antlers (space_adventures)



Series: Writing Challenges [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Steampunk elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27523960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_adventures/pseuds/wolf%20antlers
Summary: The clock stood tall, ominous in the centre of the room, its long, intricate panels gleaming in the firelight. It was an enigma, a mystery. Harry had no clue how it got here, looking perfectly suited to the bleak environment of Grimmauld Place, and yet still so… wrong. He didn’t dare go near it for fear of it being cursed. it was clearly a magical object, the subtle blue sheen to the exposed gears ticking inside it sold him on that pretty quickly.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Writing Challenges [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011684
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Like Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a little challenge with Elli~ 
> 
> **Prompt:** Harry Potter and The Clock of Tears
> 
> Unbetaed, for once. This could either go very badly or, well... fine, I suppose.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

The clock stood tall, ominous in the centre of the room, its long, intricate panels gleaming in the firelight. It was an enigma, a mystery. Harry had no clue how it got here, looking perfectly suited to the bleak environment of Grimmauld Place, and yet still so… wrong. He didn’t dare go near it for fear of it being cursed. it was clearly a magical object, the subtle blue sheen to the exposed gears ticking inside it sold him on that pretty quickly.

Ever since Harry could remember, he could see magic. Not very well, mind you, but enough to know whether someone or something was magical. It was the reason he worked in the business he did, as an assistant to one of the best artificers in the magical world.

Tom Riddle.

Perhaps he knew what this strange, magical clock was.

* * *

Riddle’s house was whimsical and light, in stark contrast to the man himself, who was cloaked in magic so heavy it was almost suffocating. Harry adored it. A sparkling clockwork bird greeted him as he exited the fireplace, and he ran a finger down its smooth, brassy head, smiling at the whirring in its breast. Tom had many contraptions such as this, and when Harry saw them he knew he wanted to become a mage as well-renowned, as fantastic as Tom was.

Harry left the receiving room, knowing Tom’s routine well enough to make haste for the office. Tom hardly left the place, it was his safe haven, his workshop, and, at times, his bedroom. More glistening birds flew overhead, rolls of parchment clutched in their finely crafted claws. Short little mice swept the halls, and a liquid silver cat gazed at him coolly from its cushioned perch.

The hall was warm, walls cream with brown panelling reaching halfway up. Tom had decorated for autumn, or rather, his housekeeping mice had. Gourds sat in baskets in the alcoves, surrounded in magically-touched flowers and leaves. Harry thought the decorations to be tasteful, beautiful, and elegantly befitting of someone like Tom. It was a welcoming environment.

He carefully stepped over the trick floorboard which had caught many a visitor, but stood out like a sore thumb to Harry’s magical vision. It was designed to flip a person upside down, so one would end up walking on the beautiful, high ceiling. Tom thought it hilarious. Harry thought it was rather mean (but privately, he couldn’t hide his smirk when he thought of rude, squat Melania Black screaming as she twirled upside down, and Arcturus Black’s panicked shouting).

Tom’s office stood at the end of the hall, a small, brass placard blared Tom’s name in sharp, ornate capital letters. Harry knew he’d carved it himself, even if he could hardly read Tom’s writing. He knocked on the dark wood, twisting the brass handle at the careful, “Come in,” which emanated from beyond it.

He sat behind his desk, reading through a book which seemed far older than even Tom, who Harry knew had discovered immortality many, many years previous. According to Tom, he’d been there when wizard society split from the muggles. The stories he had were positively fascinating; tales of life and death, of magic and alchemy. The ones which always caught Harry’s attention, however, were the ones about history, about creation and discovery.

“Harry, I wasn’t expecting to see you so early.” Tom’s hair was neatly groomed, as it always was, and his gleaming red eyes peered out at Harry over his rectangular spectacles.

“I’ve encountered a rather… strange situation, sir,” Harry started and paused, unsure how to continue. “There’s a clock?”

“Are you asking or not?” Tom raised an eyebrow. Harry flushed and straightened his shoulders.

“Sorry, sir.”

Tom smiled wanly, folding his hands over his book. Harry watched as blue streaked from his hands, encasing the thin pages. Tom’s control over his magic was incomparable to anyone else's. And Harry, well, he was learning from him.

“Tell me about this _clock_.” Tom’s chocolatey voice never ceased to make Harry shiver, and the way he purred certain words almost felt like flirtation. If Harry didn’t know Tom was strictly attracted to knowledge and learning, he may have mistaken the tone. He’d long since learned better though.

“It appeared,” Harry said. “It appeared in the middle of my drawing room this morning. I have no idea how, or why. It was magical, and that’s why I’ve come to you.”

“Curious,” Tom said, curling a gloved hand around his jaw, fingers tapping gently against his cheek. Suddenly he jumped up, flipping the book on his desk shut with a thump. “Let’s go.”

Harry blinked as Tom pushed past him, and by the time he’d gathered himself Tom was already pulling on his heavy cloak, hiding his tailored dark brown robes from view. Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, mouth agape. He should be used to Tom’s spontaneity by now, his subtle manic energy which most likely came from the long life he’d led.

However, Tom still managed to surprise Harry, day after day.

“Are you coming?” Tom asked, grabbing a handful of floo powder from a golden clock with bulbous eyes and a long, droning croak. The fireplace’s flames turned fantastically green, and Tom disappeared in a flash. He didn’t even use the password.

* * *

Harry stumbled back into the dreary living room of Grimmauld Place with a sneeze. Ash had gotten up his nose during the trip, tickling his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose but the feeling didn’t subside until subtle magic encased him, clearing his body. Tom stood beside the dusty green couch, looking unnaturally bright in the dull, soul-sucking gloom, pale yew wand in hand. He twirled it in his elegant fingers, head tilted slightly.

“The drawing room, you said?” Tom hadn’t been here before, in the months they’d been working together. Harry nodded, leading the way.

They didn’t walk long, ducking through the dusty hall into the drawing room, which, for all the years Harry had lived here, had never been used for its intended purpose. Much of the furniture was covered in dust, just like the living room, and the drawers in the large display case were infested with Finger-Biting Fleas, which Harry hadn’t gotten around to removing yet. His apprenticeship took up far too much of his time for him to do leisurely things like cleaning and exterminating magical bugs.

Right in the middle of the room, when he typically passed through on his way to the kitchen, stood the clock. He realised with horror that it was now facing towards the door, its crystal face glinting in the firelight.

His gut sank as he told Tom, whose eyes lit up like a match. He always loved challenges. Harry would typically agree with him, however the fact that this clock was in _his_ house instead of a client’s made him just a little more reluctant than usual. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go about casting archaic magic and messing around in this house, with ancient dark enchantments rooted in its very foundations.

Tom flung spell after spell at the clock, which seemed to absorb every single spell Tom shot at it, the magic fading into its wood like a blackhole.

By the end, a thin sheen of sweat grew on Tom’s forehead, and his eyebrows were furrowed, his lips downturned.

“Can you touch it for me?” Tom said, voice mildly curious. Harry’s palms dampened, but he breathed deep, calming himself.

Tom wouldn’t make him do anything _too_ dangerous for his health, nothing irreparable anyway.

Harry walked over, and when he was close enough, face reflected in the cool, impersonal glass, he could hear a slight _tick, tick, tick_. He didn’t dare breathe as he reached out, placing his palm on the wood gently.

At first, he thought nothing happened, but, as his vision blurred he realised he was crying.

“What?” He looked at Tom, who had an unnamable expression on his face.

“A Clock of Tears. How curious that you would come across one.” Tom said. Harry could recognise his tone from anywhere; his lecturing voice. Harry’s hand slipped away, grazing down the smooth wood, while Tom’s folded behind his back. “They ward away nightmares and other bad dream spirits. However, the sorrow they defend against becomes trapped inside them, which is why you began crying when you touched it. You may notice the time is wrong.” Harry hadn’t noticed at all, but when he cast a wandless _tempus_ with a twitch of his fingers he realised the time was off by a half-hour. However, the second hand on the clock moved far faster than his conjured one. “The time is that of the spirit realm. Q _uite fascinating_.”

“Thank you,” Harry said and brushed a stray curl off his forehead. “I’m glad it won’t cause any trouble.”

“Well, I never said _that_ …”

Tom’s laugh echoed through the house as he disappeared down the hall, leaving Harry with a questionable clock and his own gut-sinking naivete.


End file.
